the cobwebs away, yet not all of them.


impossible, an old house. there would be

time, if it was national trust where all is

care and cleaning, though i have heard

they leave some now for authenticity.


I imagined it would cost forty five, yet it was sixty,

until the special offer.


we have washed and dusted,

spring cleaned, had time for the garden.


again.


it is a nice place

here.

I was starving in
Pennsylvania.
One night, I had
enough.
Done with it all.
The poverty and
sickness.
The drunken mad
nights
and dog-fight days.
Brutality for breakfast.
Served sunny side up
runny yolks with
butterflies trapped in
the yellow sunshine.
Spiders built webs in
my soul.

I stood on the torn-up
couch in my living room and
yelled at the walls.

Listen, you devil.
You want me, you better be
ready for a fight.
I paced the floor like a
washed-up heavyweight champ,
eyeing the ceiling like a
drunken sparrow in a cat's mouth.